The Magnetic Fields, i

Irma waits by the window,
vaguely looking down at her socks,
and humming... possibly
her father will come home with a box
of chocolates possibly
not. Father's memory

was never what it once was
shouldn't really drive anymore,
either... as if in answer
with a sound like blowing up your
ears, father's jeep crashes
through Irma's wall. She says

bad words as several hundred
boxes of her favorite kind
of chocolate fill her bedroom.
But she doesn't actually mind.

hoxe hai un ano: Lorenzo's Oil ¶